The word, philosopher is an honorific, W. says. It’s a title that can only be bestowed on you by others. Do I think you deserve the title, philosopher?, W. asks me. Did I deserve it back then?

The desecrator of philosophy: that’s what I had become, wasn’t it? The destroyer of philosophy. I was at one with the apocalypse of philosophy, with the end times of philosophy. And wasn’t that why he was drawn to me?, W. says. Wasn’t that why he proposed our collaboration? I was close to the truth, W. says, despite everything.

‘True thoughts are those alone which do not understand themselves’: that’s Adorno, W. says. And I didn’t understand myself, did I?